Book of the Damned: A-E5L1-01-00: (A reverse harem, post-pandemic, slow-burn romance) (The JAK2 Cycle, Book 2)

by V. E. S. Pullen

  Me: That’s the weirdest endearment possibly ever.

  Sev: Back to my original point before I get all gooey, you’re way too mature for your age. You’ve had way too much on your shoulders. And we’re totally immature. It’s a perfect match.

  Me: And it’s not weird to you at all to be the spokesperson for all your brothers and two other men in this conversation.

  Sev: Nope. Different world, honey badger.

  Me: Well, cool. I guess. But it still doesn’t change some fundamental issues for ME.

  Sev: Okay. Lay ‘em on me.

  Me: What I want and what I can have are two different things.

  Sev: They don’t have to be.

  Me: Yes, they do.

  Sev: Why?

  Me: Because everything about me is complicated. Because everything about me is difficult, and complicated, and you’re going to get sick of it all and you’re all going to leave me eventually and then I won’t be able to do what I need to do. And it’s more important than my happiness or even yours. I wish it wasn’t the case but it is.

  Sev: Why do you just assume it’s going to end?

  Me: Because you said it yourself, things are different out there.

  Sev: I don’t understand.

  Me: You won’t be satisfied with me.

  Sev: You don’t know that.

  Me: In the first two days I knew you, I saw you with four different girls, and all four of them have proven themselves to be horrible human beings. Clarissa is one of the meanest and most superficial people I’ve ever met. Alessa Jackson is dumb as a stump, though not as dumb as a bag of rocks like Marina, so you might want to warn Luka. She’s also vindictive. Alessa, I mean. Well, Marina too. By your own admission, you hooked up with Alessa the day you met her. Emma Charamut has such an inferiority complex in her little frenemy circle that she has to put everyone else down to feel even remotely better about herself, and it would be really sad if she wasn’t so cruel. And do I need to say anything about Gemma? THAT’S what you’re into, and that’s not me. I can’t even fathom why you would want to do anything with any of them. Or me for that matter.

  Sev: I have never, in my life, considered how a girl I’ve fucked treats other people (not that I’ve fucked any of them). I’ve never cared. Then again, I’ve also never really cared about their thoughts, interests, or dreams outside of what it takes to get a girl into my bed, and then out of my bed with the least complications, because that’s the sum total of time I wanted to spend with any girl. Never anyone on repeat who might catch feelings, and I use them as much as they use me. And they *are* using me, that isn’t a question.

  Me: If it’s always just sex for you, then I see your point. What does it matter if the insides are garbage as long as the outer shell is pretty?

  Sev: You’re judging me.

  Me: Maybe a little? But I think I do get it. If you don’t care who you’re with, and it’s just their outside that matters, then it doesn’t matter that you’re fucking someone repugnant. As far as judging goes, though, I’m mainly just trying to wrap my brain around that mindset. It’s foreign to me.

  Sev: Because you’re a virgin.

  Me: I am. But that’s not the issue, not exactly. That’s more of the repercussion of the issue rather than the issue itself. I don’t believe that sex requires love, or even that love requires sex. I do think that I will never choose to have sex with someone that I think is a repugnant person, but I think that’s more of a personal issue than a generalized belief about sex. I’m not judging other people for feeling differently, I even sometimes wish I could be like that. But I can’t because I have to be hyper-aware of my body, 24/7 in order to maintain my general health and be a functioning person. I have to be careful what I eat, what touches my skin, how much sleep I get, and I have to routinely evaluate how I’m feeling throughout the day and look for warning signs of something being out of whack. I have to do things that are uncomfortable, often painful, in order to stay even remotely healthy.

  Sev: Okay, I kinda knew all that. But I’d think you, more than anyone, would want to do things that feel good, that give you pleasure.

  Me: I do. Of course I do. But having to put that much work into staying just functional, why would I let anyone *into* my body that I don’t trust implicitly? Or that I don’t feel is worthy (for lack of a better word)? I’m not saying I’m some prize or anything, but I’m not in a position where I can just put out a vacancy sign and welcome anyone who might have an appealing shell but be repulsive on the inside. That person won’t care enough to want to keep me safe and healthy. They could damage me out of disregard or laziness or on purpose — and I just mean physically, not even thinking about mentally or emotionally. So your approach to sex doesn’t work for me. And you can judge me for that, call me high maintenance or a prude or whatever, that’s fair. I imagine my way of thinking is just as foreign to you as yours is to me.

  Sev: No, I get it. That makes sense. And I haven’t ever had to think about those things, it’s unlikely anyone I have sex with could damage me in any capacity. I don’t know why you don’t see yourself as a prize, you are. You’re the girl that men like me change for, for even a chance at being with you.

  Azzie: You’re killin’ me here. You know I care about you, and you know I think highly of you even though you’re kind of an ass sometimes, but it’s even MORE complicated. Because on top of everything else, I could never be with someone who is regularly with other people. That would open up a whole new layer of danger to me. So as much as I want to experience sex and feel good like that, it’s so incredibly complicated that I’m not holding my breath that I’ll ever meet anyone who thinks that a skinny, sickly virgin is worth that much effort. YOU aren’t going to think I’m worth the effort. Because you’re not used to even considering how a person you fuck treats other people and you don’t do repeats, and I have to be hyper-conscious of everything about a person I fuck and weigh it against the potential repercussions.

  Sev: And you don’t believe that I’d take care of you? That I’d never do anything to hurt you or put you at risk?

  Me: Yeah, but for how long? How long before all this work isn’t nearly as appealing as some anonymous fuck that’s easy? Complication free. Someone you don’t have to think about or work so hard for, someone who isn’t going to put so many limitations and restrictions on you.

  Sev: No one can promise forever, not in this world. But I can promise you that if we were together, I’d be faithful. I wouldn’t ever put you in jeopardy, I wouldn’t ever hurt you physically or emotionally. Or mentally. Probably. I seem to give you headaches a lot.

  Me: And I have to weigh my belief in you versus what I know will happen if you break your promise. Not just the health risk, there’s a risk to me being able to do what I need to do. If I had you, Sev, and I lost you, it would destroy me. And I have responsibilities that are beyond just myself, or even you. I can’t be selfish like that.

  Sev: And I’m not worth even trying?

  Me: No, Sev, the opposite. You’re so worth trying that it terrifies me because I shouldn’t even be thinking about this let alone considering it. You’re making me question everything I believe.

  Sev: You’re the one that doesn’t want complications. You’re so afraid of losing me that you won’t even try. After you and Spider talked on the stairs, and he told us that you needed to do something that might kill you, Luka and I were fighting everyone. We wanted to do anything we needed to stop you, because you could DIE. And Spider said that you could also LIVE, and if you did, you wouldn’t want us in your life if we made this harder on you. So you need to consider that you might lose me, or Luka, or Sasha, or Spider, or Tai, but you also might NOT. And wouldn’t it be worth it? Wouldn’t that life be worth fighting for?

  Me: You’re killing me.

  Sev: No, I’m not. I’m telling you that you deserve to live, fully. You deserve a REAL life, with all the complications. And I’m not the only one that feels this way. Give us a chance to prove o
urselves.

  Chapter Twelve

  Azzie

  I couldn’t respond to him. I didn’t know what to say.

  It was the same argument that Mouse made, over and over, that I didn’t need to give up everything that might be fun or pleasurable or emotionally fulfilling, even if it could impact my ability to do my job. And two years ago, I felt the same way — I still felt optimistic and I still had secret dreams of a future. But then I started getting sicker.

  It wasn’t right away, it happened over time. I noticed my fingers first, the tips feeling cold, getting numb so quickly on any days off without an oil change. My toes went about the same time, but luckily I was already having professional care of my nails — toe and finger — and Rachel was making stuff for my skin, and that’s possibly why I didn’t end up really messed up and scarring myself as my skin became even more sensitive and even more itchy and irritated.

  Then my joints started to ache, all the time. All the time. They felt swollen and stiff, like they were filled with fluid so even when they weren’t actively hurting, they didn’t bend or flex the way they should.

  I was always a little tired but after awhile I couldn’t even go up a flight of stairs without feeling exhausted deep down in my bones. Constant, life-altering exhaustion. The kind of tired that occupied my mind all the time, no matter what I did, I felt like an addict seeking out another fix. I forced myself to walk a little faster, ride my bike instead of getting a ride, climb the stairs, and still try to train with Mouse. But I was slower. I had to be more deliberate. I had to choose my battles as far as where I expended my energy.

  And then, about four or five months ago, my spleen started to hurt all the time. It used to only get a little achey when I’d eat particularly cold or really sweet foods, especially in combination with a lot of fat like in ice cream or a milkshake — foods I happen to love and can no longer really eat without tons of pain and discomfort. They gave me an ultrasound, and my spleen was slightly enlarged. Two months later, another scan, and it was even bigger. While I was fighting off JANUS-27, I was extremely lucky to be in the hospital on a morphine drip because I almost had to have my spleen removed, it was so inflamed and painful, but they managed to save it. I just don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep it.

  When they scanned it last week, they noticed then that my liver was a bit enlarged as well.

  I feel like a clock winding down, every tick just infinitesimally slower than the last. I feel like I might get a few more good years before things start giving out, but they will give out. And for the few years I have, I can’t spend them being sexed up by a bunch of gorgeous guys, no matter how tempting that is. Whatever they might say, I have to have priorities, I have to put the health and safety of as many people as possible before my own comfort and happiness. I’m a selfish person to some extent, but it is only in pursuit of being as selfless as I possibly can be.

  I owe so many. I walked away from something that no one else did, no one else in this entire town, and so many of them might have lived if only we’d realized earlier what was possible. The feelings I have of guilt, regret, and responsibility are so intense, and writ large across the entire country, the entire world. What I feel when thinking of the individual person that I knew and lost, when compared to how many millions — no, billions — of deaths they represented… one teacher became all the teachers. One parent, all the parents. And who was I? Why was I the one spared? Why do I continue to be the one spared? I have it within me to save them, and I didn’t. I can’t fail those who still live.

  Me dying is only a tragedy if the time I have left is wasted. If I was out there, among the people who needed saving, able to deliver not only immunity but hope, then it wouldn’t matter if I had only weeks left in me, I would be doing the work that I’m supposed to be doing. But if I spent my time and energy on seeking physical pleasure and emotional connection, then I could live decades and have failed.

  I wish it was possible to achieve some kind of balance, some way to have a relationship — or many relationships — and still have the energy, drive, and focus to ensure that I am saving as many as I can, but the pain in my joints, the weight in my limbs, and the ache in my side tell me that isn’t possible. They tell me I’ll be able to get through the day, eat the food I need to eat, do the work I need to do, and that’s it. I literally don’t have time for anything or anyone else.

  How would it be fair to pursue this with Sev or any of them, knowing what I know? How could I let them in knowing in some too short amount of time, I’ll be leaving them for good? I can’t predict how long, or what it will be like leading up to it, but what I know is that it’s inevitable. My body is telling me that it’s deteriorating because sometime around eighteen months ago, I realized one of two things was happening: either my disease was progressively getting worse, or my body was beginning to give out.

  And it makes me want to scream. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to beat my fists against the wall until my bones break at the unfairness of it all, but then I think about the teachers, and the parents. I think about my brothers, all the brothers. And my feelings of persecution and frustration, my righteous anger at all I’m expected to sacrifice, it all just fades away.

  So I’m going to take them out of here, and make sure they’re safe, and I’m going to make sure all their families are safe, but I’m going to maintain my distance. I can’t love them the way they deserve to be loved, all-in and without regrets, and I can’t allow them to love me either. Eventually I will need to leave, either move on or die, and it will be so much easier all around if no one feels the loss the way I felt being left behind, and the way I feel just thinking about one of them dying even now, when we’re not that attached.

  My impulse was to tell him immediately, let him know that I couldn’t do what he wanted, but even I recognized that wasn’t a good idea. It may seem selfish, again, to hold that to myself and let him go on with me knowing it was pointless, but I also needed to let him have hope too. I had to let him believe that I was considering what he asked of me, not dismissing it outright. I wasn’t going to reject him like that. I knew what it was like to feel rejected, and I wouldn’t do that to someone I care about the way I care about him.

  Because I do love him. I love all of them. That’s the only thing this feeling could be, this weightlessness that kept me grounded, this sensation of agonizing ecstasy whenever I’m near them. The beam of light illuminating my otherwise dreary existence whenever I even think of them. They make colors brighter, sounds sharper, tastes sweeter, and my aching limbs feel lighter.

  And I’m the stupidest girl in the world for falling in love with five men who can’t ever love me back — won’t ever love me the way I’d need anyway, willing to sacrifice all their freedoms to be with me — but the more I fight it, the harder I’m falling. No matter what they do or say, no matter how many new ways they find to piss me off or make me cry — I’m a stupid, stupid girl.

  Before I knew it, the rest of the day had passed and I had heard nothing besides my own thoughts, saw nothing besides the paths spread out before me and the only one I would allow myself to take. I finished the day in the same oblivious solitude that I’d spent so many hours recently, contemplating the grain of wood of my desktop as I decided the fate of the world.

  I left all my books in my locker. If my plan worked, I wasn’t going to be coming back to school. I looked around the hallway at all the kids, and wondered what would become of them if the base shut down, but in all honesty, I really didn’t care that much. Maybe I’m just numb from experiencing so much death, or maybe I feel like they’ve had comfortable lives free from constant worry unlike so many other millions of people, and they spent their time being assholes. I know not all of them did, but enough harassed me, and the others never said a word, and I don’t owe these fuckers a thing.

  I stopped in the bathroom after class and put a bandage across the code tattooed on my arm, then I walked out the door with a light b
ackpack, filled only with the personal items I carried with me at all times: my first aid supplies, my lotions and sunscreens, and my music. I put on my sunglasses, freed my bike from the rack, and headed into town.

  If anyone watched me leave, I wasn’t aware of it.

  Spider

  I watched her leave.

  I’d watched her all afternoon, like the stalking creeper she accused me of being.

  I knew what Sev talked to her about. I knew what her response was. And I knew what her ultimate answer would be just by the expression on her face as she lost herself in thought.

  It was not going to be the answer we wanted.

  I heard from Luka that even in Art History, the class she seemed to love more than any other, she wasn’t paying attention to anything projected on the screen, and she never looked up from studying the desktop. Even when she was surrounded by the Slope sisters and their posse, all hell-bent on tormenting her, Azzie never once even acknowledged they were there. Luka burned bridges that day, fighting them off from her when she was too preoccupied to handle it herself, but what does it matter?

  Tomorrow, if all goes well, we’d be on our way out of here. I had yet to understand how, but I trusted Azzie. I’d do exactly what she said, and I knew she’d come through.

  If only I could believe she’d pursue us with that single-minded focus and drive, I’d be a happy man.

  Tai and I planned a quiet night at home, making sure that no traces of our true purpose and allegiance to the NNC were left behind. I was certain the triplets were doing the same. Who knows what the Callises were doing.

  Assholes.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Azzie

  “What’s it going to be today, Azzie?”

  Michelle smiled warmly at me from behind the front desk when I walked in, as sleek and elegant as ever. She had on an emerald green, sleeveless wrap dress that hugged her curves, and her hair, makeup, and nails were perfection. I knew that when she stood up, she’d have on a killer pair of heels, something so crazy-sexy that I could never dream of wearing.